For My Culture
by mung-fu
Summary: Hasn't anyone noticed how there is no cultural diversity in Harry Potter? I mean, what ever happened to all the Jewish, Islamic, Hindu and Hare Krishna Wizards? This is the story of a Jewish boy who gets accepted into Hogwarts... *CHAPTER 3 UP!!!!* r
1. Chapter one

In his whole life, David Cohen had never been anything other than average. He was of   
average height and build, if a little scrawny. He had average brown hair with average brown  
eyes. He did the average ammount of sports at school and got average grades. The only thing   
not average about him was the fact that out of the entire English village of Scottersdale,   
he was the only Jewish childnd his was the only Jewish family.   
  
His family were not very observant, but they had Shabbat dinner every Friday night,   
and he was forbidden from spending money on Saturdays. At school, many of his   
friends knew that he was Jewish, but to most of them, this was insignificant.   
Most, except for a gang at school, led by a boy named Sheldon Perkins,   
who was an arch-antisemite and detested David for no reason bar his Judiasm.  
He was a huge boy who lorded his largeness over everyone else by beating the unfair  
truth of the fact into them, punch by bloody punch.  
  
David was walking home from the miniscule school located at the outskirts of the village,   
when Sheldon and his cronies caught up with him.  
"Whatya think you're doin' Jew-boy?" Sneered Sheldon. His thugs laughed menacingly.  
David tried to ignore him and carried on walking.  
"I said, what the fuck do you think you are doin'?" Sheldon snarled, as he caught David on   
the shoulder and wheeled him around to face him.  
As if talking to a very young child or someone emmensely stupid, David said, "What dya think,  
moron, I'm trying to avoid idiots spitting in my face on my way home."  
Sheldon's lip curled, revealing unbrushed, yellow teeth. "It looks to me like the dirty Jew   
doesn't know that this is a filth-free town, and that he's disobeying that rule by being   
alive."  
The cronies laughed loudly. David tried to walk away, but Sheldon had a good grip on him.  
He tried to move the bigger boy's hand, and Sheldon caught it in his other hand and wrenched   
the arm so that it was twisted half way round. David's eyes were hard as he said, "Let. Me.   
Go." in short grunts on pain. Suddenly Sheldon let go of his hand and let out a yell. David   
just got a look at his hand before one of Perkins's thugs, a boy named Robert came up and   
punched David in the eye. The others all followed suit by punching and kicking him, until he   
fell down in a heap. Their work done, they ran away, leaving the unconcious boy sprawled on   
the street.  
  
He regained conciousness about a half hour later, one image burned into his incoherent mind.  
Sheldon's hand looked as if it had been burned. He managed to hobble home slowly. He felt   
like he had been tenderised and could already feel a spectacular bruise forming  
on his eye. Just great, he thought to himself, and wondered how he would explain the bruises  
to his parents.  
  
When he got home, his parents were not there. He wondered at this, as he ate a sandwich he  
had found in the fridge. He HAD come home much later than usual. Perhaps they were out   
looking for him. Or perhaps they were out at a friends.  
Knowing them, they were probably worried sick.  
He made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and clean up. As he brushed his teeth,   
he looked at himself in the mirror. He barely recognised himself. His one eye was nearly   
swolen shut and was a horrible puce. He had a cut lip and bruises where the bastards had  
kicked especially hard. He gingerly touched his eye and winced. There was an ointment, he  
knew, for bruises. What was it agian...oh yes, arnica lotion. He rummaged around in the  
medicine cabinet behind the mirror and liberally spead arnica on all the hurt parts. He  
was going to feel just WONDERFUL tommorow, he thought glumly.  
  
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The next morning, he looked at himself again, the swelling had marginally decreased.   
"Mom? Dad? Anybody home?" He yelled. On Saturday mornings his parents usually had a prayer   
service, but it was already nearly noon, so it would be over already. It was the beginning   
of summer holidays soon... he couldn't wait.  
No answer from his parents, so he assumed that they were out.  
  
Later in the day, he heard the door opening and footsteps trudging into the kitchen.  
He went to the kitchen to see his father looking at the contents of the fridge.  
His father was a middle aged, balding man who ran a small business in the village.  
"David, there you are!" His happy smile faded as he caught sight of the black eye and split  
lip. "What happened to you?" he exclaimed.  
"I...I fell." David said, unconvincing even in his own ears.  
"Sure you did..." His father trailed off.  
After an akuard pause, he said, "Mail arrived, something for you in the pile."  
He indicated the heap of letters on the diningroom table.  
For David... who would be sendind him mail?  
Perhaps it was an anonymous aunt or relative who wanted to pay for him to go to a school  
outside his crummy town.   
He went to the pile and immediately saw an interesting envelpoe which stood out from the   
other bills' plain, monotonous white.   
The envelope was yellow, inscribed with green ink on the front was the address:  
Mr David Cohen  
The 2nd bedroom on the right  
12 Rodeyo Drive  
Scottersdale  
England  
  
He studied the wax seal a while before opening it. After a lengthy silence, his father said,  
"Well, are you going to open it, or what?"  
Slowly, he broke the wax seal and eased open the envelope. The letter was written on   
parchment in the same green ink, and it read:  
  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy  
------------------------------------------  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)  
  
Dear Mr Cohen  
  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  
and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Minerva McGonagall,  
Deputy Headmistress  
  
David stared at the letter for about five minutes, trying to decide if this was some kind  
of joke.   
"What is it??" asked his father.  
Wordlessly, he handed the letter to his father, who read it once, twice, three times before  
saying, "I always suspected that you were magically gifted..."  
David's head snapped up in startlement "What?" He exclaimed  
"There is something that I should tell you. Your grandmother, my mother, was a witch.  
And I," He continued heavily,"was a squib"  
"A WHAT?"   
"A person who has no magic even though his parents do. In the magical world everyone pities squibs, so I decided to swear   
off magic and Wizards alike. I wanted nothing to do with anything magical, so I fell in   
love with a muggle-"  
"A WHAT?"  
"A non-magic person"  
"Oh"  
"Anyway, I fell in love with a muggle and foreswore having comminication with the magical  
community."  
David was stunned. He had never even suspected that there was a thing as magic, let alone  
that his Grandmother is a witch.  
"That is why I made arrangements should my children turn up as wizards. It would be best   
for you if you had some sort of magical atmosphere to help you adjust to your studies. How   
would you like to spend summer holidays with your grandmother and school holidays with us?"  
"Have you discussed this with mother?"  
"Yes, yes."  
"Give me a day to think about it..." David felt as though his world had been turned upside  
down.  
"However long you need, son."  
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	2. Chapter two

After much deliberation, David decided that anything was better than his crummy town, and if  
it was all some kind of practical joke, he be laughing with them.  
  
"Dad..." He began, "I..I want to go!" It came out in a whoosh of breath. There he had said  
it.  
"Well, then!" His father said exitedly,"I will send you off to your grandmother's house at   
once!... Hang on a sec, I'll write a letter.." He started fumbling for a pen, then stopped  
and gave David a long, thoughtful look. "Well, go and pack, then!"  
  
David's room was quite small and quite average, just like David had thought he was.  
No longer would he be just the average Jewish kid next door. He was unique. He was special.  
He was going to live with a grandmother he had never met before...  
Who was he kidding? He couldn't be a wizard! There was no such thing... It was all an   
elaborate plot to get rid of him. He heard the door opening.  
  
He ran downstairs, his meagre possetions and clothes stuffed hastily into a duffel bag.  
His mother was a tall, browned haired woman. Her large nose seemed to somehow - fit - her  
unusual face. She had tilted, violet eyes that seemed to sparkle in the lamplight.  
For a while, she justed looked at him, as if remembering him how he was on this day,  
imprinting a photographing memory of him in her mind. His mother always made him feel  
special.  
  
"Well, I guess I always knew that this day would come..."  
"Mom, don't. Just don't." He said desperately, only now truly believing that it was all  
real. His mother would never lie to him.  
A tear slid down his mothers cheek and he felt his own face grow wet.  
"I love you!" He said fiercely and his mother bent down to take him into her arms.  
"I know." She breathed into his ear, then kissed his forehead.  
"You only leave tomorrow, though."  
One more night, he thought. His father ruffled his hair, and he felt truly loved.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The landscape flickerd past his train window. He was on his way to London, to his   
Grandmother, Isabella Cohen. What will become of me, he thought, just before sleep overtook  
him in the bumping, jolting train.  
  
He awoke with a start just before the train pulled into Kings Cross. He got off the train  
and looked for an old woman holding a sign with the words "David Cohen" on it.  
He looked and looked, but could find no one. He was being jostled this way and that and   
eventually found a bench.   
  
Almost everyone was gone and he was staring glumly at nothing, when sodenly an old lady  
in a bright pink dress POPPED into the empty place into which he had been staring.  
"Wha...Who are you?" he said, his jaw dropping.  
"Isabella Cohen," She said with a grin, "and you, I assume, are young David."  
He just sat staring.  
"Well, aren't you gonna give your gran a hug?"  
He got up and did just that.  
After a long hug, Isabella stood back to examine him.  
"Why, you're the splitting image of my late husband, may he rest in peace."  
David felt as if he had just sunk neck deep in warm water; a plaesant tingle ran down his back.  
"Well, first stop will be the Leaky Cauldron and a nice, hot bath."  
David did not know what the Leaky Cauldron was, but a bath sounded wonderful.  
"Shall we?" She invited.  
  
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	3. Chapter three

They caught a taxi from King's cross and David collaspsed inexhaustion in the taxi.  
When they got there, he was still semi-comatose so his Grandmother magicked him to feather lightness and took him and his duffel bag into the unassuming interior of the Leaky Cauldron.  
She greeted Tom, the toothless innkeeper, with a grin and a word between two old friemds.  
"Well, thats my grandson!" She proclaimed proudly.  
"So he is, so he is." Said Tom in an agreeable manner,"I have two rooms available,  
lucky for you. Shall I get you set up?"  
"Thanks, Tom," Isabella said greatfully.  
  
After Tom had helped her lug everyhing upstairs, including her nigh-unconcious grandson,  
She put first David and then herself to bed, and dreamed beautiful dreams of how she finally had a child with MAGIC.  
  
The next morning, at about half past eleven, David was roused from his well needed sleep by the pleasant sound of the hussle and bussle of business from directly below his room.  
WHERE AM I?  
The thought drifted across his sleepy mind and he uddenly sat bolt upright, memories flooding into his head. Sheldon. Hogwarts. Squib. Train. GRANDMOTHER.  
Just as the last thought crossed his mind, Isabella Cohen herself breezed into the room.  
"Better, I trust?" She said without preamble.  
"Much!" He replied, and realised it was true. Not even a trace of his bruises remained.  
He put a hand to his cut lip and felt that it was healed. "Pleasure." Said Isabella.  
"Th-Thanks 


End file.
